His posture said, I’m confused, but his eyes said, What? “I don’t really fix leaky faucets.”
“Please. I won’t ever ask you for anything again.”
“Oh, no,” Gemma said in warning, “don’t ever believe that. She’ll have you painting or moving boxes or burying her neighbor before you know it.”
It was like she didn’t know me at all. I would never ask him to paint.
We met at my place, and I led Wyatt into my living room. Gemma knew about Faith being in my apartment, but making the introductions between Faith and Wyatt could prove tricky. Then again, I had to find her first. She wasn’t under Mr. Wong. “Hmmm,” I said, looking around, “that leaky pipe doesn’t seem to be in here. Let’s try the bedroom.”
Wyatt cast Gemma a questioning gaze, then followed me. “You know, everyone says you’re crazy.”
“Really? That’s weird. But how about we go with that and call it good?”
“Works for me.”
I got on all fours and checked under the bed. Sure enough, Little Miss Sunshine lay scrunched under my bed, her huge blue eyes staring out at me. I bounded up. “Found it!” Then I got on my stomach and offered her my best Sunday smile. “Hey precious,” I said, holding out a hand. “I brought someone to see you.”
She backed away from me, eyed me as though I were an axe murderer. Crap. And I thought we were friends.
At least Artemis was happy to see me. And even happier that I was on the floor. She pawed at me, her tiny tail practically vibrating with enthusiasm. I rubbed her ears and nuzzled her neck before popping up over the bed again. “You’re just going to have to look for yourself.”
When Artemis went in for the kill, tackling me to the floor, I called out, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Wyatt walked around the bed and saw what could only look like a seizure of some kind. I had Artemis in a headlock and was gnawing on her ear, but I stopped instantly when I saw him, tried to push her off me as nonchalantly as I could.
“It’s down here,” I said.
Hopefully he would dismiss my behavior as a side effect of lunacy. I smiled and turned back onto my stomach, but Artemis pounced. Ninety pounds of airborne Rottweiler landed on my back. The air rushed out of my lungs and I groaned in agony.
Then I heard a giggle. Soft. Lyrical. I looked under the bed and said with strained words, “You think this is funny, do you?”
The beginnings of a smile widened her mouth. Sadly, however, I had to push Artemis off me before I lost consciousness. I wrapped an arm around her head and made her lie beside me. “Stay,” I whispered into her ear. She whined, wanting so very much to pretend to rip out my jugular. Dogs loved that shit. Having no other choice, she chewed on my hair instead. That would keep her busy for a few.
With a great and powerful sense of doubt, Wyatt got onto his knees. I took his hand and pulled him down to the floor with me. Gemma laughed and got onto her knees as well, curious.
“This,” I said to him, pointing underneath an empty bed, “is a little hurricane who goes by the name of Faith.”
He stilled, and his emotions flat-lined. It was a lot to take in. I probably should have warned him about the whole dead-people thing. Trying to imagine it from Wyatt’s point of view, I looked under the bed. The only thing he would see was the red thong I’d lost a couple of weeks back and a Butterfinger wrapper.
“Sorry,” I said to him. “I forgot to mention that I see dead people.”
He nodded. Since his adrenaline didn’t spike in surprise, he’d heard the rumors. Not the ones where I saw dead people, but the ones where I was a crazy-ass psychic wannabe who thought she saw dead people. At least it wasn’t a complete surprise.
The real surprise would come next. Faith saw him. She saw the scars on his face. She looked into his eyes. An instant later, she was in front of us.
I eased back and encouraged Wyatt to sit with a hand on his shoulder. Faith balanced on her toes, hunched down in front of us, but at least she’d come out from under the bed.
“She led me to you, Wyatt,” I said as his gaze tracked every shadow, every speck of dust in the air, trying to see what his eyes simply couldn’t perceive.
Faith duck-walked forward, inch by inch until she could reach out and touch his face.
I signed to her. “His name is Wyatt.”
She didn’t look at me directly, but she nodded an acknowledgment. It was the first glimpse of actual communication I’d gotten from her. Now we were getting somewhere. She reached up and touched his face.
“She recognizes you.”
When her fingers brushed across his face, he bucked back.
“Just stay still,” I said, encouraging him with a steady hand. “She’s touching your face. Your scars.”
He bit down and held fast as she brushed her fingers across his jaw, over his chin and mouth. His was the last kind face she’d seen.
“I think she wants to see you, to know that you are okay.”
I signed again, but I used my voice so the other two would know what I said. She could hear now. That wasn’t the problem. The problem would lie in the fact that she didn’t know spoken English. “Your name is Faith?” I asked.
She lifted a shoulder to her cheek in shyness and nodded. Then she lifted her index finger, just barely, and pointed to Wyatt. “My friend,” she said, her signs a mere whisper on her hands.
Tears sprang to my eyes so fast, I couldn’t stop them. “Yes,” I said, patting Wyatt’s shoulder. “He’s your friend.”